Free Strong Cold Dead by Jon Land Page B

an episode of Dallas .
    â€œSo, what can I do for you, Ranger? You didn’t specify the reason for your visit.”
    â€œThat’s because my visit isn’t part of an active investigation, nothing like that,” Caitlin told him. “I’m just here for some background on the Comanche Indian reservation outside Austin.”
    Jackson nodded, poking at the air with a finger that looked as thick as a cigar. “Where those young folk are staging a protest.”
    â€œThat’s the one, sir.”
    â€œYou mind calling me Sam Bob, Ranger?”
    â€œNot at all.”
    â€œOn account of we got history between us and all, and I’m not just talking about that award the Chamber gave you.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œYour daddy got mine out of a whole mess of scrapes. He was a good man, my daddy, kind and generous to a fault. But he couldn’t hold his liquor, and Jim Strong was always there when a bender got the better of him.” Jackson pulled his boots off the desk and rocked his chair back forward. “Be glad to return that favor any way I can.”
    â€œWell, sir—”
    â€œSam Bob.”
    â€œThe truth is, I understand you were hired by the Blackfoot up on the Fort Berthold reservation in North Dakota. And I understand there was some trouble up that way, as well, in the course of more than thirteen hundred wells being dug.”
    â€œThere was indeed, Ranger, regrettably.”
    â€œI believe the tribal chief who pushed the whole deal through, Tex G. Hall, ended up establishing his own energy consortium, with a shell company established by you, according to the paper trail. Hall’s currently facing a slew of indictments and has been implicated in a pair of murders.”
    Sam Bob Jackson forced a smile, trying to look casual and undaunted but unable to disguise the edge that settled in his voice. “Does your jurisdiction extend to North Dakota, Ranger?”
    â€œNo, sir, but it does to the Balcones, and some of the Comanche have expressed concern over your involvement there, as well.”
    â€œYou’re speaking of those protesters, I assume.”
    â€œThere were protesters up in North Dakota, too, Sam Bob, who got it in their mind to draw attention to what fracking would do to their land. From what I’ve heard, they were pretty much right.”
    The giddiness fled Jackson’s expression like air from a balloon. His face suddenly looked smaller, his gelled hair not as shiny.
    â€œThat’s something you’d have to take up with the oil companies Jackson Whole sold off the mineral rights to.”
    â€œWell, Sam Bob, the protests I’m talking about happened before the drilling operation began, when your company was still running the show. And one of the leaders of the Blackfoot protest ended up in a coma after a serious car accident. Another disappeared and turned up drowned, after falling out of his skiff while fishing the Snake River. Another of the leaders had a change of heart and ended up with a brand-new home for his whole family.”
    Jackson interlaced his fingers again, this time with elbows laid atop his dark wooden desk. “What exactly are you getting at, Ranger?”
    â€œWho would have the most to lose by a protest like that gumming up the works?”
    â€œThe Natives, for sure. And the oil companies who’d bought the leases, of course.”
    â€œAnd if they’d decided not to drill and pulled up stakes within a specified period, on account of not wanting to push their way past a bunch of kids standing in their way? That would leave Jackson Whole holding the bag, wouldn’t it? On the hook for the nonrefundable advance you paid the Blackfoot, and the Comanche in this case, for the rights to sell or lease mineral rights to their land.”
    â€œYou still haven’t answered my question, Ranger.”
    â€œWhat question was that?”
    â€œHow I can be of service to